I Better Go Now
by The Orange Lady
Summary: There are trolls in Beacon Hills. Literal, people-munching trolls. Derek is annoying, Scott obnoxious, Deaton unimpressed. Stiles has to take matters into his own hands. So why can't he stop mooning after a certain alpha? I suck at summaries.
1. Part I

**PART I**

* * *

><p>It all begins with Laila Hendricks and her nightly jogs in the woods. Seriously, Stiles couldn't give a rat's arse about her beauty and health routines, especially since it was what got all of it started. Nobody should ever go for nightly jogs alone in Beacon Hills. You might think people might have thought better of it after the first couple of thousand mysterious maulings and disappearances, but no, Laila Hendricks just had to burn some extra calories at 2 AM.<p>

And shit, now he feels bad for being such a douche. Of course nobody _expects_ to get bitten by a fucking troll. Nobody has that coming for them. Apart from Derek. Or possibly Peter. Especially Peter, come to think of it. With that kind of karma deficit, he's got a lot of things coming for him.

But he digresses. The thing that started with Laila Hendricks was the troll invasion. Yes. Trolls. Real, big-ass trolls. Who apparently followed her from the nature reserve just out of Riverdale, back to Beacon Hills. Well, scratch that. Not followed, but hunted, and then pounced, and then bit one of her feet off. Because apparently, trolls are into that. They also seem to have issues with spray-tan, which Laila Hendricks dosed them in before passing out. It was most likely what saved her life. The spray-tan. So there's that.

It is sad that the only chick in Beacon Hills worthy of Bay Watch should be crippled, but it would have been very, very sad no matter whom, actually. Because losing feet is always a very bad thing indeed. But after having had to try to pry what happened out of her, Stiles is fairly certain she is dumb enough not to suffer too much from it. He is in fact not entirely certain where the hardcore painkillers the doctors have dosed her with ends and her personality begins. Lydia is accompanying him in the interview, and although she's _this_ close to tearing her head off as well, they seem to be speaking the same language, i.e. sassy bitch talk. Stiles kind of digs it. It's also terrifying.

"Laila, can you tell me what you saw? Never mind how crazy it might sound, just tell us. We won't tell anyone else," Lydia promises harshly, in a fit of normal people English that doesn't involve saying "giiirl" and "like" every other word.

"It was like, huge, you know? Kinda like an elephant or something. Gray. And it had one of these super-tacky gold chains, kinda like a mafia boss? And a tail. It had a floofy tail. The anathe… the anstae… stiologioist — oh, fudge — the sleep doctor says it's just the drugs talking, you know? But I know what I saw, okay?"

"Totally," Lydia and Stiles fills in, in unison. It's the best response to about 75% of what comes out Ms. Hendricks mouth. It's a constant stream.

"And, like, doctor Shara… Shopar… Shaparova said they didn't have prosthetic feet with, like, stiletto heels, and I'm thinking, that's going to be like really hard for me, you know?" Lydia winches at that, not feigned, because apparently that is a real problem. Girls, Stiles figures. Girls and their weird-ass thing for uncomfortable shoes.

But still. It's been two days since the accident. Stiles is torn between calling the Darwin Awards jury and being genuinely impressed with Laila Hendricks' ability to cope. Because that is some Zen-master levels of coping. After being confronted with the existence of supernatural beings and losing a limb, she's slightly worried about her stiletto heels.

When they get out of the hospital room, Lydia turns to him and states the obvious.

"It's a troll. It must be. Did you even know they existed?"

"Nope. I had no idea. But at this point nothing really surprises me. Up until last month there was no such thing as dragons either. I mean, it's in Harry Potter, why shouldn't it be real?" There is no arguing with that logic. Lydia shrugs.

"Well, I hope you find out what to do with it, because I'm done," she says. How does she manage to look so cute, even when she's pissed off? "You have no idea how humiliating it is to be used like this for interrogation. You can tell Derek he owes me for this."

"I thought you and Laila bonded over the stiletto prosthetics? Hey, could you tell Derek that we think it's a troll? He'll never listen to me… Hey, Lydia!" But she's already swished her hair in defiance and is well on her way of power walking out of the hospital. Damn.

Stiles sends a one-word text message to Derek. Better keep it short. It just might be easier for Mr. Alpha Caveman to comprehend and actually listen to something Stiles says.

"_Troll_."

The reply is immediate and makes Stiles strangle the air and make his little 'I'm so frustrated and disappointed' dance that involves strangling the air and kicking it to hell. The attending nurse in the room across glares at him like he's escaped from the psych ER. The reply consists of one word as well.

"_No._"

* * *

><p>"Derek. It's fucking trolls," he says. Tonight there are more important things than '<em>Hello'<em> or '_Get the fuck out of my fucking room, you creep_'. "We've got motherfucking trolls on our hands."

Derek leans again his dresser, arms crossed in a way that makes the worn leather jacket strain over his muscular shoulders. He probably thinks he looks badass like that, the little fucker. Attitude seems to come with the black leather and smoldering stubble. Okay, okay, he does look pretty badass. Stiles can verify that he definitely could drown in those blue eyes, if it didn't literally mean he'd die a horrible death by self-loathing, and possibly mauling.

Still, Derek should know better than to climb into Stiles' room through the window after 3 AM. Because that is the beginning of either a horror flick or a sappy rom-com. And Derek's got no business to look that much at home in Stiles' room, leaning against stuff like that. He has abandoned lurking outside the window, invaded the far corner, and now the dresser. Soon he'll begrudgingly occupy Stiles' chair, and after that it's only the bed left. Oh god. That is sending mixed signals that Stiles would give his soul, a kidney, and possibly a small part of his liver, not to have to interpret. Can you develop Stockholm syndrome for your pseudo-abusive werewolf-stalker? Is it normal to want to climb that someone like a tree and lick his body? Is that even a thing outside of True Blood?

Okay. He needs to stop staring at Derek's throat. Focus. Focus on what Derek is saying.

"There are no such things as trolls," Derek growls. Because The Nile? Yeah, that's not just a river in Egypt. And apparently, not just for Stiles.

"What else is big as fuck, looks like rock and likes to chew on people? This is some Lord of the Rings shit, okay? It talked in Russian to our local Bay Watch chick. Hit speed-dial D for Deaton before bad gets worse. There is a fucking troll in the dungeon. I thought you should know."

Derek glares at him, but then he quickly looks away, shaking his head. If Stiles emotions towards Derek couldn't be summed up as FUBAR, and thus extremely biased, he'd say that Derek looked genuinely worried. He's even using his inside voice like a normal person, and so far he hasn't even thrown Stiles against a wall.

"You're not getting involved this time, Stiles. I don't care if it's trolls or whatever, you need to stay the hell away from this. You need to stay safe. Go to school. Keep your head you do, don't go looking for it. I don't want you hanging around when…"

Stiles snorts and turns to check his computer. Of course he's going to help out. When Bay Watch chick lost a foot on their territory, shit got personal.

"Yeah, good luck with that one," he begins, but when he turns around again, Derek is already gone. Shit. Stiles leans out of his window, but the werewolf is already out of sight.

"Hey, Lydia says you owe her big time!" he calls after him. He knows Derek can still hear him. Damnit, why is everyone running away from him? And why, oh why, does he have to clean Derek's muddy footprints off his carpet at 3 AM on a Tuesday?

* * *

><p><em>(Part one of four, will update soon. Please, comment and spread the love!)<em>


	2. Part II

**PART II**

* * *

><p>As it turns out, trolls are far more intelligent than folklore lets on. When Stiles and Scott go out looking for them, they are hiding. Seriously, the trolls are nowhere to be found, and to be fair, they shouldn't be all that hard to find. According to Laila Hendricks they were fifteen feet tall and built like King Kong. Hiding should not be their thing.<p>

"Dude, how come we're out in the woods looking for them now, and not like a week ago?" Scott sounds sceptical, with right.

"Derek made a home visit and prescribed a large dose of stay-the-fuck-outta-danger. I thought he had a plan to deal with the troll invasion, which he clearly hasn't."

It's just past 11PM. They have been way out there in the nature reserve since sunset. Scott led them to the place where Laila Hendricks was attacked, and they started looking there. There are still visible pools of blood on the dry dirt, but no trolls.

"Since when do you listen to what Derek tells you?

"Shut up," Stiles snaps back. He doesn't want to have to think about that now. Or ever. Does Derek care that much for him so that he would genuinely get sad if anything happened to him? Or is it just plain old douche-baggery to keep him out of sight? Or… Stiles brain needs to shut up. This is not helping. Like, at all.

"I thought you said the trolls would be, like, big? Shouldn't we've found them by now?" Scott whines. "Can't we come back tomorrow when it's light out?"

"Dude, trolls hide during the day. They're allergic to direct sunlight. If we can't find them now when they should be skipping around, how the hell are we going to find them when they actively don't want to be found? Also, if we do it during the day, do you want to explain to Mr. Harris why you're skipping class again?"

Scott shrugs. He's probably wishing he hadn't tagged along, and let Stiles go looking for man-eating monsters on his own. Bastard.

"Why don't you follow the scent of spray-tan?" Stiles suggests. Because, why not? If Laila Hendricks had one traceable treat, it would be that. Scott lifts one eyebrow in disdain, then sniffs deeply. Then he abruptly has an epiphany, because the stink of spray-tan should literally be everywhere… and then he darts off into the darkness.

"Hey!" Stiles hisses after him. "Hey Scott! Hey, don't leave… aw, shit."

Stiles is officially left all alone in the woods with monsters. In the dark. If anything out there would like to chew on him, he'd be toast. Like, literally. By now Derek legitimately has the right to say "_I told you so_".

Stiles takes his phone out and lights the screen so he at least can see where he puts his feet. It's going to be a long walk back to the car.

Then something moves in the dark ahead of him. His first reaction is, thank god, not to berate Scott for being an asshole friend for running away and then giving him a heart attack by sneaking up on him.

Turns out, it's not Scott.

He can just make out large shapes moving between the trees. He stops dead. He even stops fucking breathing. The huge shapes keep on moving. Turns out Laila Hendricks was spot on with her descriptions. The trolls look like a mix between gigant gorillas and rocks. They are shuffling around in a ring, snuffling at each other and swishing their tails back and forth. There are three of them. Judging from the fact that none of them are attacking Stiles that very moment, they have probably not seen him. Not yet.

Stiles does what any modern person would do, and whips out his phone again to snap a picture of them. Well, Hell, it's not on picture mode, but a video will probably be just as convincing to the jury, i.e. Deaton and Derek. They shouldn't need much convincing, but just in case, now he has something to rub their faces in.

It's a miracle that the trolls still haven't noticed him. They keep doing whatever it is that they're doing, shuffling around. But Stiles runs as fast as he can, all the way back to his jeep, and then he drives back to town. He's not taking any risks. He's not going to die because he was eaten by a troll. Also, fuck Scott. He can walk home.

* * *

><p>"So, eh, trolls, huh?" Stiles says and hands Deaton his phone. He wouldn't call his video an Oscar-winning masterpiece, but there is no mistaking it. Deaton takes one look and gives it back.<p>

"Yes. It's trolls." Deaton sounds as unimpressed as he looks. He even threw in a bit of annoyance, which is not that unexpected. "Now get off my examining table, Mr Stilinski, before I need to disinfect you."

Stiles doesn't need to be told that twice from a frigging witch-doctor. He heaves himself down and stands in the corner of the room opposite the one Derek is lurking in. There's majorly bad vibes coming from there.

"You. Went out. To the woods. To look for them," Derek grits. "Are you kidding me? I told you…"

"Yeah, yeah, you told me to stay away. Good thing I don't give a fuck what you tell me to do, huh?"

The muscles in Derek's jaw goes taut and his eyes are so red that they probably would glow in the dark. If they were anywhere else on the planet, Stiles would right now be held up against a wall and chewed on, in a very non-sexy way. Oh god, is it bad to think about being chewed on by Derek in a sexy way? Probably, Stiles thinks, given the circumstances. Circumstances being, well, pretty much everything.

But they are in Deaton's house now. Stiles smirks back at Derek, because he can. Derek admits defeat by running his hands over his face and sighing deeply.

"How do we kill them?" he asks. Good old fashioned Derek to change the subject. Going for the important stuff. Acknowledge that Stiles was right all along? Oh, no. Deaton gives him another unimpressed stare.

"Sunlight works."

"So, like, all we have to do is to summon the sun in the middle of the night?" Stiles quips. "What should we do, drag the trolls out of the sewers during daytime? Yeah, good luck with that. We couldn't even find them. And they are literally the size of King Kong."

"Finding them is the easy part. They probably have your and Scott's scents now. Let them come to you. And there are other ways of killing them." Deaton sounds way too chipper saying that.

"They have our scents now. Great." Stiles voice goes up an octave at that. "And yeah, apparently spray-tan works on them too. But in case you haven't noticed, _Deaton_, that means getting within spraying distance of those things. Do you volunteer?"

"I said, there are other ways," Deaton repeats. "I think you should back off, for now. Let me figure out a weapon to use against the trolls, and then you can go after them. Derek, this applies to you too. Keep your pack away from this. It's reasonable, don't you say?"

Derek may have nodded to that, but if anyone would take that as an affirmative action, they would have to be blind and incredibly stupid.

* * *

><p>Stiles makes the huge mistake of leaving the Veterinary Clinic alone. Well, he thinks he's leaving alone. He should have left with Derek still in sight, because then he wouldn't have had a stroke when he jumps him out of nowhere out on the parking lot.<p>

"Why?" he rumbles into Stiles' ear.

"Holy shit…" Stiles whimpers. He did not just flail and try to cling to the car behind him. Totally not. Thank God the car alarm didn't go off. "What why?"

"Why are you so annoying?" Derek grits. "Why are you not able to follow simple instructions? Why do you have a death-wish?"

He seems dead serious. Like he actually cares. Stiles is about to say '_why do you have a stupid-ass face'_ when Derek tries to put his hand on his cheek. Which makes Stiles jerk backwards in an instictual act of self-preservation, and knock his head against the roof of the car so hard he's seeing stars. Derek quickly takes a step backwards and his hand goes back to hanging limply by his side, all the anger suddenly gone out of him. If Stiles didn't know better, he'd say he looks distressed.

"Go home, Stiles. And stay there. Please." It's not an order, it's more of a plea. Stiles doesn't even know what to make of that. Welcome to the Twilight Zone.

Then, of course, Derek has to destroy the moment by sprinting off into the night. A true Derek move.

The real question '_why'_ should be why Derek has the fucking instinct to run away into the woods during every single conversation they have that even borders on being remotely meaningful. Seriously. Stiles is left with his cheek tingling where Derek's fingertips touched him, and he can't help but to put his own hand over it. To keep on to the feeling. And to wonder why he had to be an idiot about it. What if he had leaned into Derek's touch? What was that even? Shit.


End file.
